I had the full saga of the Moving of the Coows last night. Mr Crofter came over for a spot of Eve's famous Cullen Skink and a natter. Apparently, and its a pity I missed this, Hyacinth and her cohorts were eager to be moved down to their winter quarters. Ever since Mr Crofter and Mum & Dad crofter braved the elements [followed meakly and briefly by myself avec cameras] and sorted the fence post they had cruelly knocked down just as the weather closed in and merely a day after Mr Crofter had been triumphantly voted on to the Village grazings committee etc, all the fun of upsetting an easy life of The Crofter at a short distance had been taken away. And, since the air is a tad colder now, the wind stronger, the lure of a nice byre with some of the countless bales of hay that lay waiting outside for their delictation became too much of a draw. Only to get from the croft where the coows had wreaked havoc on the fence - just a day after the vote and the committee etc - to the warm byre, the cows were required to negociate the road for a hundred metres or so. Did I not tell you that Hyacinth and co are Shetlanders? No? Oh dear.
If you Googleup Shetland Cattle [its ok I'll wait here till you have read a bit] then you see they are small, environmentally friendly and calm. Not this lot I can tell you. I suggest this lot have been exiled because of their stroppyness. And size. I might even regail you of the lassoing saga one day.
Anyway, everytime Mr Crofter Sir ['Sir' because he is on the Grazing Committee. Voted on you know] tried to get Hyacinth to show her pretty little head - the one with sharp horns an all - every time she did show at the gate to the road the flippin Coop delivery van came then, no sooner had that gone the bus arrived. I mean, it only comes once an hour-ish. The buses are great I tell you. Eve left her purse on the bus the other night [for the second time. I might add] and duly next morning Mr Bus Driver produced the aforesaid lost purse. He would have brought it round to the house like last time it happened but he kept getting held up by the Cow Saga outside - all through the afternoon!
In between each visit of the bus Sir Crofter would be dancing round the croft trying to entice Hyacinth and Co to have a little look-see, perhaps a little tit-bit from the bucket and possbly, pretty please a walk gently and with great control down the road to the nice warm byre.
By now, the villagers were beginning to look out their windows since this was now Wednesday and if this saga continued till Sunday, there would be Trouble Looming. Sundays, we, the Tolsta villagers, go to church, relax, meditate or in some cases watch TV. So I'm told. We have have no TV here so we meditate or walk. Or something. We don't walk cows down the road that's for sure!
But eventually, the coows decided the coast was clear and obviously had spotted the long lush grass on the other side of the road that hadn't been eaten to a bowling-green length by the Hebridean Sheep that spooked me the other day and to whom I spoke to VERY HARSHLY. Hyacinth trotted off down the road with Sir trotting everso slightly faster in front. Then, like a flash, Tinga - one the tother-uns shot off at great pace down the lane causing an up-roar in the English Crofter-clan which got Sir Paul sprinting away out of harms way so quickly Mr Bolt would be proud of him. Then Tinga, recognising the bails of lovely hay and the byre came to a very abrupt halt, hooves skidding on the Tolsta Tarmac in true Road-Runner style.
Eventually, all the coows were safely housed in their warm-winter quarters again, sanity had reared its familiar head, Sir's heart had stopped beating at 300bpm and nice cup of tea was had by all.
As I said earlier, I wasn't there. I have no snaps of The Saga of the Coows. So you'll have to put up with these; Dad Crofter playing with the metal things to keep the beast from straying. And, Sir Crofter wondering what happened
On the Isle of Lewis off the west coast of mainland Scotland lies a croft inhabited by an English off-comer. His Mum and Dad live nearby and help him run the croft. This is a photographic record of their lives as it unfolds.